Of His Love's Affection
by Thayne M
Summary: When Kurt is feeling down, Blaine takes it upon himself to put together a week-end that he hopes will make him happy again. Klaine. Fluffish. R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee. I don't know why anyone would think that I do.  
**Summary:** When Kurt is feeling down, Blaine takes it upon himself to put together a week-end that he hopes will make him happy again.  
**Note:** Again, still easing back into fic writing. If it's not the most precise, I apologize. This story will probably be no more than four or five chapters. I hope you will stick with me until the end, and please leave honest feedback. You won't offend me!

* * *

It was finally snowing. Winter in Ohio had been severely lacking in snow this year, and Kurt couldn't say that it hadn't upset him. He loved the snow. He loved the thick sweaters and boots he got to wear, the way the bright white on the ground reflected his pale features. He loved the way he could watch his breath curl as it left his lips, marking every single word and making them that much more meaningful. So when he'd risen from his sleep at midnight for a glass of water and spotted the flurry through his dorm window, he'd been positively elated. It almost made all of the craziness and confliction in his life disappear; it almost made his world perfect.

Until, of course, he'd made up a mug of instant coffee and settled into one of the window seats in the common room, and reality had set in once more. He was still the new kid. He was still hours away from his father, his friends. He was still lonely and underappreciated and buried under a mountain of a thousand other stresses. Kurt had never been prone to depression, but lately, it had been settling over him like an itchy wool blanket, and he just couldn't seem to shake it. "I know you're lonely," Rachel had once told him, "But you're not alone."

_Yeah?_ He thought bitterly as he ran a finger around the rim of his mug, _What can you say now, Rachel? Now I'm two for two._

"Kurt?" He jerked, startled, and a few drops of coffee hopped the lip of the mug and splattered on his pale green sweater; for once, he couldn't even bring himself to care.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust in the dark, "Blaine?" Sure enough, his friend - possibly the only true one he had at Dalton - took a step forward, brow furrowed in confusion and concern. He tugged on the belt of his sleep robe, tightening it, and ran a hand through his already-messy hair as he drew closer.

"What are you doing up?" He asked when he was just a few inches away, "If Keith catches you out of bed, he could write you up."

Kurt shrugged, looking out the window once more, "Just thinking." For the first time since they'd met, he didn't really care to have Blaine around. He didn't want to have to sit there and pretend that everything was okay, and he was perfectly happy. He wasn't. But he couldn't tell Blaine that either; he'd taken him under his wing - looked out for him when no one else would - and telling him that it appeared to be for naught would just make him feel disappointed in himself. There was no need for that.

Blaine sighed and sat down in the little bit of space left on the seat, just centimeters away from Kurt's feet. "Kurt," he said quietly, resting a hand on the other boy's knee - this seemed to be a habit for him: subtle touching that he did so easily, but set all of Kurt's nerves ablaze. "I know we haven't been friends long, and I'm not presumptuous enough to think that I know everything about you, but I _do_ know when you're not telling me something."

Kurt glanced at him, light eyes flicking to his dark ones, then back to the falling snow. "You know," he said answered, slightly off-topic, resting his head against the glass and letting the chill spread through his face, "Ever since I was little, my dad and I have had this tradition. We try to make an igloo every time it snows. It's not practical," he laughed dryly, rolling his eyes, "But we've been doing it for as long as I can remember."

"You're homesick," Blaine said, more as a statement than a question.

"Among other things."

"Such as…?" The older boy said leadingly, eyebrows raised.

Kurt sighed and shook his head, swinging his legs over the seat and standing up. "I don't really want to get into it right now, Blaine; I'm sorry." Holding his mug between tightly folded hands, he started for the door, "I'll see you at breakfast. Goodnight." He didn't look back. He knew that, if he did, he'd see Blaine staring at him with those soulful, genuine eyes, and he'd break. He couldn't do that. He couldn't just crumble every time he was around his white knight and expect him to bear the weight of both their problems.

Once he was safely back in his dorm, sneaking quietly past his roommate and sitting down on the edge of his mattress, he noticed his phone flashing red from it's place on his nightstand. Curious, he illuminated the screen to find he had a missed text, from just a minute before.

**Don't make any plans for this week-end. -Blaine.**

As he hit the reply button and began typing a response, a second text popped up.

**Don't ask questions. Just trust me.**

**

* * *

**

"Are you going to tell me what you're scheming?" Kurt demanded as he watched Blaine dart back and forth between his closet and the suitcase that lay open on his bed. It had been two days since their exchange in the commons, and the older boy still hadn't let on as to what the week-end plan was. But now that it was Friday and classes were over, he was insisting that they both pack for two nights away.

"No," Blaine said simply, shaking his head as he carefully tucked away a heavy sweater. "Now, go pack; I want to be out of here within the hour."

Kurt gave him a leveling gaze, "It takes me more than an hour to pack."

"If you're not ready in an hour, you're just going to have to go naked all week-end, because you're coming whether you like it or not." After this outburst, both boys stopped for a moment and stared at each other. Kurt was sure his cheeks were turning an even darker red than usual, and Blaine looked as though he was waiting for the floor to open up and swallow him whole.

"I totally heard that," Wes called in sing-song as he passed by the opened door, "And it was _di-ii-irty_."

Blaine rolled his eyes and turned back to his closet, pushing aside a couple of uniform shirts, trying to distract himself. "You should really go pack," he said over his shoulder. This time, Kurt obeyed, standing wordlessly and letting himself out. He was only half-attentive as he opened the door to his own room and started plucking carefully coordinated outfits from hangers and folding them into the Louis Vuitton rolling suitcase that had cost him six months of allowance and a great deal of pride, which he'd lost when he got down on his knees and literally begged his father to make up the deficit. He barely made the one hour mark, but when Blaine knocked on his door just after five-thirty, he was situating one last stocking cap into the bag and zipping it shut.

"Ready?" The dark-haired boy inquired, arms crossed and leaning against the doorframe. He'd changed into a pair of jeans and a form-fitting, black sweater under a gray wool coat, and Kurt found that he couldn't keep his eyes off of him. In the time they'd known each other, the only time he'd seen Blaine out of uniform was at night, when they were all getting ready for bed, and even then, he usually had his robe on. This was, to say the least, a pleasant surprise.

"Um" Kurt mumbled, blinking a few times in an attempt to regain control of himself, "Yeah, sure." He started to reach for his bag, but Blaine beat him to it, placing it on the floor and popping out the handle. He rolled it out to the hallway with a little smirk, gesturing toward the stairs. Kurt ducked his head, trying to keep another blush from staining his cheeks, and shrugged into his coat as they headed for the front door. "Oh!" He said suddenly, stopping halfway down the staircase, "Did you sign us out for the week-end?"

The older boy nodded, "I told Keith yesterday morning."

Kurt's eyes narrowed, "Does _he _know where we're going?"

"Yes."

"And I don't?"

Blaine touched his hand to his heart in mock-offense, "Kurt, don't you trust me at all?"

There was a beat of silence, and then the quiet reply, "Yeah, I do."

"Good," he said with a soft smile, and they continued walking. Once Kurt's bag was tucked next to his in the back of his Fusion, both boys slid into the car and Blaine started the engine, hooked up his iPod, and put his foot down on the gas pedal.

They didn't speak. They just sat comfortably, listening to music and watching the road. Kurt thought about asking questions - trying to figure out where they were going - but he knew it wouldn't do him any good. Blaine could be stubborn, when he wanted to be. They were one in the same, in that sense. So instead, he leaned back against the headrest and stared out the window, once again losing himself in his thoughts, his troubles, his loneliness. He should have been thrilled to have a mystery week-end away with this boy he was almost positive he was in love with, but all he felt was helpless.

"Hey," Blaine said after almost half an hour of driving, "Do me a favor?" Kurt blinked heavily and turned his head to look at the other boy questioningly. Blaine glanced at him, "Get out of your head."

"What do you mean?"

He leaned forward to turn the volume down and said, "I mean, I can tell you're thinking about something - something you won't talk about - and I hate seeing you this depressed. It's so not like you."

Kurt turned back toward the window, "Well, I'm sorry I'm not living up to your expectations."

"Stop that," Blaine commanded sternly, "That's not what I meant at all. I just-" he stopped short, shaking his head, "Nevermind. We're almost there, and I don't want us to start the week-end pissed off at each other."

Kurt just shrugged and moved his attention away from his friend completely, occupying himself by watching the trees as they raced by, the way snow clung to their branches as it continued to fall all around. He got so caught up in watching the way it drifted to the ground, piling higher, that he hardly noticed when the car slowed and then came to a complete stop outside of a familiar strip-mall. One minute, he was memorizing snowflakes, and the next, his door was being wrenched open and a strong set of arms were pulling him out of the car and into a tight hug.

"What the-" he let out a startled cry before inhaling deeply, and he came to recognize that familiar smell of car oil and aftershave. "D-Dad?"

Burt pulled away, holding his son at arm's length and smiling so hard that his lips almost touched his ears, "Hey, son."

Kurt was very still for a long moment, mouth opened and eyes wide. Then they began filling with tears that he was determined not to shed, and he threw himself back into his father's arms. "Dad," he said loudly, hugging him with all his might, "Oh my god, I've missed you."

"Missed you, too, kid," Burt said sincerely, once again pulling away and nodding toward the building, "C'mon. Carole and Finn are waiting inside; Friday night dinner." He gave his son's shoulder a little squeeze before heading back inside, and Kurt finally had the presence of mind to take in his surroundings. They were at Breadstix. Which meant they were in…Lima? _Wow_, he thought, _I'm really inattentive_.

He heard Blaine's door open behind him, and turned as the other boy climbed out of the car. "I thought it might be nice," he said, flipping his keys over in his gloved hand, "If you could have a week-end with your family. I know you haven't been home since you started at Dalton, so…" He shrugged, "Maybe you and your dad could build your igloo."

Kurt just stared at him, stunned. This was, quite possibly, the nicest thing a friend had ever done for him. "Yeah," he said slowly, hardly able to process his thoughts, let alone put them into words, "Yeah, we can."

"We should go inside," Blaine told him, nodding toward the restaurant. "I'm sure your family is eager to spend some time with you."

The younger boy nodded excitedly and rushed inside, slowing down just enough for his counterpart to catch up. They immediately located Burt, Carole, and Finn sitting around a circular table and went to join them, shedding their coats and taking two empty chairs next to one another. "Carole," Kurt greeted, beaming as he hugged his stepmother on his other side. "Finn," he added with a nod to her son.

"Good to see you, Kurt," Finn said with a smile, and he actually sounded sincere. Sure, maybe they weren't _best_ friends, but they were - as far as either of them were concerned - brothers. That meant something.

"How's school, honey?" Carole asked, reaching out to touch his cheek, "I feel like we barely even get to talk to you anymore."

Blaine noticed the way Kurt's back stiffened slightly, and the almost unnoticeable tightness to his voice when he said, "School's great. Really great. But let's not talk about school," he said with a wave of his hand, looking her up and down, "I absolutely love this outfit!"

"You should," she laughed, tugging at the belted red silk blouse, which fell flatteringly over her black dress pants, "You sent it to me for Christmas."

"Yeah, and thanks for the gloves and scarf," Finn piped, then twitched his lips to the side, "I mean, I'm kind of afraid to wear them anywhere because they're white and really expensive looking and I'm pretty sure I'd ruin them, but they're really cool."

Burt look a sip of his water and sighed, "The best present would have been having my boy home for the holidays. But," he continued quickly when his son opened his mouth to protest, "I understand why you couldn't be there, and the Mellencamp collection was a good second-choice."

Kurt laughed, unable to stop smiling, and then glanced at Blaine, who was watching this exchange with a polite smile. "Oh!" He mentally slapped himself, shaking his head, "I'm sorry; you guys haven't officially met yet. Blaine, my dad, Burt, stepmother, Carole, and stepbrother, Finn. Guys, this is Blaine Anderson."

"Of course," Carole said, reaching across the table to shake his hand, "We've heard a lot about you, sweetheart." The older boy gave a sidelong glance to his friend, who blushed and busied himself with one of the breadsticks from the table's basket.

As Burt shook the boy's hand, he said with a nod, "Hey, thanks for the call, Blaine; I don't know when we would have seen Kurt again if you hadn't dragged him out here."

"I assure you that Kurt's been wanting to visit," Blaine said with certainty, "Classes can just get a little overwhelming sometimes, especially when you're new. Not a whole lot of downtime." He sighed lightly, "I haven't seen my parents since summer vacation."

"That's awful," Carole sympathized, frowning. Then she added, "Well, at least you and Kurt can keep each other company when you can't be home." She shot her stepson a little wink, and he blushed again. She really had this mom-thing down; complete with good-natured humiliation.

"Absolutely," he said, trying not to laugh at the mortified expression on his friend's face.

Burt looked back and forth between the two boys, smothering his suspicions and changing the subject. "So, Blaine, we were thinking of going a double feature at the movie theatre after dinner; you're free to tag along if you want."

He glanced at his watch, nodding, "I'd love to. I have to make a stop first - I have to check in at the hotel before eight or I'll lose my reservation - but after that-"

"Oh, no-no-no," Carole objected, already shaking her head, "You're a teenage boy; as a mother, I can't let you stay in a hotel room by yourself. We have a perfectly comfortable pull-out couch at home."

"It's all right, Mrs. Hummel; my parents know where I'm staying and they're fine with it."

"_I'm _not fine with it," the mother insisted, still shaking her head. "I don't think it's safe, or smart. You'll stay with us, and that's that."

Blaine glanced at Finn, who was shaking his head in a best-not-to-argue-with-her way, and then back to Carole with an agreeable grin. "Well, as long as it's not an inconvenience, I'd love to stay with you." Kurt just wanted to be invisible; this was painfully embarrassing already, and they still had the rest of the week-end to suffer through. But it didn't seem to phase Blaine. He just smiled and folded his hands under his chin, leaning toward Burt, "So, Mr. Hummel, Kurt tells me you're a big sports fan. What do you think about the upcoming Ohio/Missouri game?"

By the way the older man's face lit up, this topic was his idea of heaven. Well, at least that was a start.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee. I don't know why anyone would think that I do.  
**Summary:** When Kurt is feeling down, Blaine takes it upon himself to put together a week-end that he hopes will make him happy again.  
**Note:** Again, still easing back into fic writing. If it's not the most precise, I apologize. This story will probably be no more than four or five chapters. I hope you will stick with me until the end, and please leave honest feedback. You won't offend me!

* * *

Kurt was practically bouncing up and down, not caring how ridiculous he looked. "Really, Dad? Are you serious right now?"

"Part of me wishes I wasn't," Burt said with a laugh as he slid his credit card under the box-office Plexiglas. The double feature, Kurt and Blaine had come to find, was back-to-back Barbra Streisand. Funny Girl was first, followed by The Way We Were; two favorites. Kurt though he might explode. Beside him, Blaine seemed to be just as excited, though more composed.

"I'd be happy to wait while you change," he said, accenting his words a little.

Kurt was positively beaming as he replied, "I'd have to change too much; nobody could wait that long!"

Carole laughed, putting her hand to her chest, "This is going to be hilarious, I can already tell. I can't believe Finn's missing it." After dinner, they'd gone back to the Hummel house to unload their luggage and relax for a while, and when they'd left for the theatre, Finn stayed behind. He'd said it was because of the mountain of homework piling up in his room, but there was reason to believe that (surprise, surprise) a straight, seventeen-year-old boy didn't want to spend his Friday night watching Barbra Streisand movies with two adults and two flamboyant adolescents.

After they'd collected their concessions and made their way to the appropriate screening room (Lima wasn't overrun with Streisand fans, so they had no problem getting quality seats), Kurt sighed contently, and it was the happiest he'd seemed in over a month. "I have both of these movies on DVD, but there's something about watching them in the theatre that makes them even more amazing."

"I know what you mean," Blaine agreed, taking the seat next to him and balancing their popcorn bucket on his knee. He took a quick look around and raised his eyebrows, "There are only three other people in here; I'm having serious concerns about the world."

"_Someday_," Blaine and Kurt sang along with the movie, not caring if they were disturbing the whole five other patrons, "_They'll clamor for my drama. Have you guessed yet, whose the best yet? If you ain't, I'll tell you one more time_." Carole chuckled, leaning against her husband as she watched the boys. Burt, on the other hand, was slumped down in his seat, trying his best to keep from falling asleep. "_You'll bet your last dime - in all of the world, so far - I'm the greatest, greatest star_."

Blaine laughed as the song ended, "God, I forgot how much I loved this movie."

Kurt glanced at him, glad that the theatre was dark enough so he wouldn't be discovered studying the boy, taking a moment to appreciate him. It would have been enough, eventually, just knowing that he cared enough to ask what was wrong when he found the younger boy staring out at the snow at one in the morning. But the fact that he'd gone above and beyond and arranged this trip to his hometown - and stay the entire week-end with him, to boot - and was now sitting next to him, singing along to Funny Girl… It was almost surreal. No one could be that caring. No one could be that perfect.

He wanted to reach out to him. Take his hand, the way he'd taken his before, but he was nowhere near brave enough. Not when it came to Blaine.

Over an hour later, Kurt didn't need to summon that courage; Blaine did it for him.

"If I push too hard, it's because I want things to be better," Barbra's character - Katie - was saying. It wasn't an easy transition, from Funny Girl to The Way We Were; the energy was so opposite. "I want us to be better. I want you to be better. Sure, I make waves - I mean, you have to - and I'll keep making them 'til you're everything you should be, and will be. You'll never find anyone as good for you as I am, to believe in you as much as I do, or to love you as much."

Blaine's hand closed over Kurt's, tight, urgent somehow. When Kurt glanced at him, his face was pale and there were tears glistening in his eyes. He was sure he was in a similar state, but something about seeing someone as strong as Blaine like that broke his heart. He situated his hand so he could lace their fingers together, and squeezed.

"I know," Robert Redford's character - Katie's husband, Hubbell - replied sadly.

"Well, then why?"

"Do you think, if I come back, it's going to be okay by magic? What's going to change? What's going to be different? We'll both be wrong. We'll both lose."

There was a choking sob on Kurt's other side, and he looked to find Carole with tears streaming down her face. Without really thinking about it, he reached out and took her hand in his free one, and she held on to it tightly, eyes never leaving the screen. It was a foreign, unbelievable feeling, being a pillar of strength for once. Even if it was only for a few short moments, in a dark movie theatre, where the only comfort a person could really offer was a soft touch and an understood closeness.

"_You are the beautiful reflection_," Blaine sang softly - absently - late that night, as he helped Carole put some sheets on the fold-out mattress, "_Of his love's affection. A walking illustration of his adoration. His love makes you beautiful; so beautiful_."

Carole smiled as she tucked in the last corner and straightened up, hands on her hips. "That's some voice you've got on you. No wonder you get all the solos."

He smirked, "Did Kurt tell you I get all the solos?"

She nodded, retrieving a thick blanket from the linen closet and tossing it on the mattress. "Yes, but he also assures us that you deserve them."

"I'm coming into the room," Kurt called from the hallway, "So if you're talking about me, please stop." Carole zipped her fingers across her lips as her stepson shuffled through in his cloth boots and pastel-blue flannel pajamas. "I'm going to make some cocoa," he said, sweeping his dirty-blonde hair across his forehead, "Do you guys want some?"

"Sure," Blaine nodded, spreading the blanket over the mattress and folding the top over.

"None for me, honey," Carole said, holding up one hand. "What with all the excitement, and then the laughing, and then the crying," she yawned, "I'm ready for bed. But don't you boys rush off to do anything in the morning," she said sternly, "I'm going all out for breakfast."

Blaine smiled, "Sounds great, Mrs. Hummel." She waved goodnight to both of them and started down the hall to her bedroom, and the older boy unzipped his suitcase. "I'm going to change real quick," he told Kurt, taking out a set of pajamas, "Be right back." While he headed for the bathroom, Kurt went to the kitchen, filling the kettle with water and setting it on the stove to boil.

"Kurt?" His father's voice said quietly behind him, and he turned to face the man.

"Yeah, Dad?"

"I, um," he scratched the back of his neck nervously, "I need to ask you about something, and it's a little awkward, but I want you to answer me honestly."

Kurt could already tell where this was going, but he held his composure, "Of course. What is it?"

"It's just that," Burt shrugged, "I sort of noticed you and Blaine holding hands at the movie, and I just gotta ask: Are you two, you know…an item now? Or something?"

"That wasn't just awkward; that was _painful_," Kurt said with a good-humored roll of the eyes. "No, we're not an item. Just friends. The hand-holding was strictly sad-movie comfort; I was holding Carole's too, but we're not involved either."

Burt studied him for a moment, then smirked, satisfied, "Okay. Yeah, I figure you'd tell me if you were dating someone, anyway; I just wanted to double-check."

"I _would _tell you, Dad," his son said with a definitive nod, "You'd be the first to know."

Burt smiled, "I believe that. Okay, well," he looked over his shoulder as he heard the bathroom door open, "I guess I should hit the sack. You guys don't stay up too late, okay? Busy day tomorrow."

"We won't. Goodnight," Kurt gave his father a quick hug, then turned back to make the mugs of cocoa when the kettle whistled. He dumped a few marshmallows in each and started back for the living room, stopping short when his eyes found his guest.

Blaine was already on the bed, leaned back against the pillows, and watching an infomercial on the flatscreen. He was wearing a pair of black workout pants and a white v-neck, exposing muscles Kurt never even knew he had. He looked up then, raising an eyebrow and smirking, "Glued to the floor?"

Kurt's cheeks flushed and he cleared his throat, "Sorry, I was just in my head again," he lied, moving forward to hand him one of the mugs and sitting on the bed, as far away from the other boy as he could get.

"Really?" Blaine's brow furrowed, "I thought that you'd be happy, being back home."

"Oh, I am," Kurt said quickly, "I was just thinking of what other embarrassing things my parents are going to put me through tomorrow."

The older boy laughed, plucking a marshmallow out of his cocoa and popping it into his mouth. "Your parents are great," he said as he chewed. "They're hilarious, and they love you a lot. It was really nice of them to let me stay here," he added thoughtfully. "Between you and me, I didn't really want to stay at the hotel; I know it's not a manly thing to admit, but I get kind of freaked out by myself."

"Really?" Kurt said, a little more eagerly than he meant to. It was just so strange, hearing Blaine admit that he was afraid of something as trivial as being alone for a night. He'd never really admitted to being afraid of anything.

He nodded, "Totally. When I was ten, my parents left me alone in our house for a few hours one night, and I managed to convince myself that someone was trying to break in. I ran down the stairs to get the phone so I could call my mom, and I ended up losing my balance and falling. Broke my leg in two places. It kind of had a lasting mental effect, I guess." He looked at the other boy, who had his lips pressed tightly together and was starting to turn a little pink. "It's okay," he said with a smile, "You can laugh."

With that blessing, Kurt exploded in laughter, body shaking so hard that he had to set his drink down on the end table so it wouldn't be spilled. "I'm sorry," he said as soon as he could breathe again, "It' just, I can't imagine you being so frazzled about something."

"I was _ten_," Blaine repeated, taking a drink and setting his mug to the side, trading it for the remote. "Anything in particular you want to watch?"

Kurt shrugged, still smiling, and shook his head, "I don't watch a lot of TV, so whatever you want is fine." After a few moments of flipping, the older boy finally settled on a rerun of Fosters Home For Imaginary Friends and set the remote back down. Kurt couldn't help but keep a mental count of all of the things he'd learned about Blaine in a few hours; things that hadn't even crossed his mind in the months since they'd met. 1) He was great with parents, 2) he was a sucker for Streisand, 3) he cried during sad movies, 4) he had _muscles_, 5) he was afraid of being alone, and 6) he liked cartoons. Kurt could only imagine how many more he would add to the list before they returned to Dalton.

After some silence, broken only by their laughter over Bloo's maniacal "hot in Topeka" rant, Blaine shifted a little so that he was facing Kurt more fully. "So is this doing the trick?"

Kurt froze, not sure what he meant. "What?"

"Being here," he waved his hand aimlessly, "Is it getting you out of your depression?"

"Oh." Kurt's fingers traced over the threads in his pajama pants, and he shrugged, "Yeah, being home is definitely something I needed. But, I mean," he sighed, "Being homesick isn't the only issue I'm dealing with at Dalton."

"What else is bothering you?" Blaine asked gently, "I'll beat it with a shovel."

Kurt snorted, then quickly covered his mouth and nose with his hand, hoping his friend would ignore the graceless noise. When his hand fell away, he was biting on his bottom lip, and he said, "Classes, for one. I've always been an A-student, even through all the drama at McKinley, but at Dalton - where I don't even have bullying on my mind when I'm trying to study - I'm struggling to keep Bs. And then there's," he cleared his throat, "The Warblers. I don't think I'm adjusting very well to how you guys do things."

Blaine scooted a little bit closer, laying his hand over Kurt's and telling him with a smile, "How about this: If you promise to put all of that out of your head this week-end, _I_ will promise to help you with your classes, _and_ try to get the other Warblers to incorporate some of your New Directions style into a few of our numbers."

Kurt just blinked at him, "You'd really do that?"

"Absolutely."

"Just to make me happy?"

"Just to make you happy," Blaine confirmed, squeezing his hand as he did so. "We're friends, Kurt, and I don't like seeing you as miserable as you've been. So do we have a deal?"

Kurt looked down at their hands, then back up at Blaine. "Sure," he said, though his throat was dry now, "We have a deal."

"Good," Blaine said with a soft smile, releasing his hand and glancing at the clock on the wall. "We should probably get to bed; I heard your dad say that you're going to have a busy day tomorrow."

_Oh, god_, Kurt thought with horror, _If he heard that, what else did he hear? _But he decided it was better not to ask. So he simply nodded and stood from the mattress, "Goodnight, Blaine." He gave him a short wave before excusing himself to the basement bedroom that was still technically half his, and collapsed onto his bed.

"Kurt?" Finn grunted sleepily from his side, though Kurt couldn't see him in the dark.

"Yeah, it's me."

"Everything okay?"

"Actually, I think it is."

"Okay, cool." There were several moments of silence, and then, "Kurt?"

"Yes?"

A pause. "I like that Blaine kid. It's good to know that someone's there for you, when we can't be."

Kurt couldn't help but smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee. I don't know why anyone would think that I do.  
**Summary:** When Kurt is feeling down, Blaine takes it upon himself to put together a week-end that he hopes will make him happy again.  
**Note:** Okay, this will actually probably end up being more than four or five chapters, just because I'm getting so caught up in the dialogue of it all. Bear with me! It might be as long as six or seven. Thanks for all of the kind reviews so far! Your feedback means a lot to me!

* * *

Kurt was woken the next morning by two rough hands, shaking him awake. "Hnn?" He mumbled into his pillow, sniffing and opening one bleary eye. "Finn?" He was confused for a moment, having expected to wake up in his dorm, his roommate Tony snoring on the other side of the room. It took him a while to remember that he was back in Lima for the week-end. With Blaine. As soon as that fact popped into his head, he sat up, "What's wrong? Dad didn't kill Blaine, did he?"

"What? No," his stepbrother hit him with that patented look of confusion. "Why would Burt do that? No, I just didn't think you'd want to miss what's going on in the kitchen."

"What's going on in the kitchen?"

"Just c'mon," Finn said, holding out his hand. Kurt took it wordlessly and allowed himself to be hoisted to his feet, then let go of his stepbrother's hand and followed him up the stairs.

When they got to the kitchen, he stopped in the doorway, eyebrows raising in wonder at the scene in front of him. Blaine's iPod was connected to the kitchen's iHome, music pulsing from it, and he was singing along as he flipped - literally _flipped_, up in the air - pancakes in a Teflon pan. At the burner next to his was Carole, rolling perfect omelets and humming along with an impressed grin. Burt and Finn both sat at the table, watching in awe.

"Carole, I can see you mouthing the words; sing along," Blaine nudged the woman with his elbow. Kurt wondered, briefly, when she had invited him to call her by her first name; what all had he missed this morning?

She waved him off, "No, I have a terrible voice."

He snorted and shook his head, "Doesn't matter what you sound like, as long as you're having fun. So come on!" He removed one pancake from the pan, and as he poured another perfect circle in, he sang, "_Tonight I'm crawlin' out from in it. And though we're livin' on the brink, second by second by minute by minute_."

Carole gave him one last tentative look before she broke and started singing along, even going so far as to swivel her hips and toss her head from side to side. "This," Kurt finally said, albeit too quietly for the two singing chefs to hear, "Is just too bizarre."

"Don't I know it," Burt agreed, equally as quiet. "_You_ aren't even this lively in the kitchen."

"Out-gayed in my own home," Kurt joked, "The shock of it all is the only thing keeping me from grilling him about Rick Springfield being on his iPod."

Finn glared at him, "Hey! I like Rick Springfield."

"Oh, sweetie," Kurt patted his hand, "You also like Kid Rock; I won't hold it against you."

Blaine stopped singing as he flipped the last pancake onto the serving plate and turned around. "Someone should probably wake up-oh!" He stopped short when he spotted the newest addition to his audience, "I didn't even realize you were up."

"I couldn't miss the show, could I?"

Blaine just smiled at him in response and turned back around, "Carole, if you point me in the direction of the plates and silverware, I'd be happy to set the table."

Burt spoke up then, "No, Blaine, that won't be necessary." He stood from his chair, pulling Finn up along with him, "You and Carole cooked; Finn and I will set the table."

"What about Kurt?" Finn whined like a real brother.

"Kurt's visiting from school," Carole told her son as she added a few mushrooms to her current omelet, "We're going to let him slide on early morning chores today. Blaine, honey," she added when the other boy attempted to take his pan to the sink, "Go sit down. I mean it." He held up both of his hands and obeyed, sitting down in the chair next to Kurt's and folding his hands together.

"Good morning, Blaine," Kurt said, amused.

Blaine smirked at him, "Good morning, Kurt." Then he gave him a once-over and added, "I've gotta say, the bed-head look really works for you." The younger boy blushed, realizing he'd completely forgotten how ridiculous he looked in the morning. When he rose to rush back downstairs and right this wrong, his friend put a hand on his arm and held him in place. "No, seriously," he insisted, "It's cute."

Still blushing, Kurt lowered himself back into his seat, eyes never leaving Blaine's. Was he flirting with him right now, or just offering a casual compliment? Kurt wished desperately that he could know what was going on in the other boy's head. This was so unnerving. Especially when Blaine didn't break their locked gaze; he held it steadily, eyes soft, face relaxed. Kurt didn't want to look away, but at the same time, he was praying for a reason to. It wasn't that he didn't cherish the chance to have an intimate moment with Blaine, but having it in the same room as his family wasn't exactly ideal.

"Kurt," Carole said suddenly, providing him with the excuse he needed to look away. She was holding a plate and looking at him nervously, "You still like spinach and tomato omelets, right? Because that's what I made you."

"Yeah," her stepson answered, embarrassed when his voice came out a little hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again, "Yes, spinach and tomato is still my favorite. Thanks, Carole." Beside him, Blaine snickered, but straightened his face as soon as Kurt's eyes snapped back to him in a glare.

Carole put the omelet down in front of Kurt, as well as two perfectly golden pancakes. She then handed Blaine his plate and sat down with her own. Kurt had tasted the omelets before, and he knew how good they were, so he decided to be adventurous and try out Blaine's pancakes first. He cut a small triangle with his fork and speared it through, then lifted it to his lips. He could feel expectant eyes on him, and as he chewed, he couldn't help the smile that spread across his face.

7) He could _cook_.

* * *

"They're insane," Carole murmured as she stared out the window.

"Certifiable," Blaine agreed, taking a sip of his coffee. They were sitting on the couch in the living room, looking out on the front yard, where the two Hummel men were bickering about something. By the way they gestured wildly around, they were disagreeing about the structural stability of the misshapen mound that was supposed to be an igloo. At one point, Kurt got so frustrated that he rolled a rather large snowball and launched it at his father's head, knocking his trademark baseball cap clean off.

"Mhm, yeah." Both Blaine and Carole looked behind them when Finn entered from the kitchen, cell phone pressed against his ear, "Okay, I'll ask and call you back. Bye." He snapped the phone shut and looked at the two, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Blaine, I know you're Kurt's guest and everything, but would you mind if, I dunno," he shifted awkwardly, "If I borrowed him for an hour or two? Some of the other kids from Glee Club want to catch up with him."

Blaine swallowed another mouthful of coffee before waving it off and nodding, "Absolutely. The whole point of this week-end was for him to get to see his friends and family. I've got," he tapped a finger to his lips and glanced at his suitcase, "Some extra credit I could do. At least, I think I packed it. And I _know_ that I packed a novel, if nothing else."

Carole rolled her eyes and told her son, "I'll find some way to occupy him until you get back." Finn nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen, and the woman told their guest, "Extra credit? Novels? What kind of teenage boy are you?"

"Oh, there are so many ways I could answer that."

* * *

Kurt sighed, tossing a hat onto his bed and putting on another, trying to find one that matched his outfit perfectly. "I don't have to go," he told Blaine, who sat next to the growing pile of accessories, watching him get ready. "Or you could come with us."

"Finn made it pretty clear that your friends wanted to see you alone," Blaine said good-naturedly, plucking a fluffy gray scarf from the mess and wrapping it around his hand. "Besides, I think it'll be fun to spend some time with your parents; maybe look through some baby pictures or embarrassing home movies."

Kurt groaned in agony, tossing his current hat to the side, "I'm so not comfortable leaving you alone now." When met with just a smirk, he sighed and changed the subject, "Anyway, do you think you could help me with my English project for a little while tonight? If my parents don't scare you away, that is."

"They won't," Blaine insisted, then added, "And sure, I'd be happy to help." From the top of the stairs, they heard Finn calling for Kurt, and Blaine stood, walking over to his friend. He wrapped the gray scarf around his neck, tying it loosely, and smiled, "You better get going."

_You have got to stop doing that_, Kurt thought to himself, struggling to keep his breathing steady; to not react. _You're going to kill me_. He honestly didn't understand how his friend could be so casual in these kinds of conversations. Was he a pathological flirt? Or was he even flirting with him at all? Maybe this was just how he interacted with his friends, and Kurt was building himself up to have his heart smashed. Again.

"Yeah. I'm leaving," he said, abruptly pulling away from Blaine and disappearing up the stairs with lightning speed. This left the other boy with his eyebrows raised and shoulders raised, palms up, wondering what had just happened. He didn't have much time to dwell on it, however, before Burt called down that he and Carole were almost ready to head out.

When he got back upstairs and started shrugging into his coat, Carole handed him an orange and white ticket, then gave a second ticket to her husband. "'Sixth Annual Lima Winter Sports Fair,'" he read aloud, then looked up with a furrowed brow, "I have no idea what to make of that."

Burt chuckled, sliding his ticket into his back pocket, "It started out as a big flea market type deal - everyone would get together at the community centre and sell old sports gear…"

"And now," Carole continued, "It's basically an excuse for people to barter and goof off. Talk sports, play sports, get into fist fights about sports."

Blaine flicked his ticket and grinned, "Sounds great."

"Really?" Burt couldn't help but sound incredulous. When Carole raised her eyebrows at him, he corrected himself, "I just mean, I couldn't get Kurt to go if I paid him. I've tried. And you two seem to be a lot alike." He looked helplessly around, then asked his wife, "On a scale of one to ten, how big of an ass am I right now?"

"Roughly a six?"

Blaine laughed at this, shaking his head, "No, it's fine. I realize that Kurt and I are very similar," he said thoughtfully, "But we have a lot of differences. The biggest one, I think, being sports. Football is really the only one I keep up with, as a spectator, but I'm pretty athletic too."

Burt's expression read impressed, "You play sports? Really?"

"Well, not officially," the boy clarified, following Carole as she began ushering them out the door. "It's mostly my friends and I messing around in the courtyard when it's nice out, or playing basketball when we don't have homework or rehearsals."

"In that case," the father said as they slid into his car, "I think you and I are gonna have to square off in some ball later."

Blaine accepted his challenge with narrowed eyes and a tough nod, "Bring it on."

* * *

The turnout at Breadstix was insane. Kurt had expected Mercedes and Rachel, and maybe Tina and Artie, but this was unbelievable. The entire McKinley High Glee Club had shown up, pushing together three long tables and squeezing in around them. Even Mr. Schuester was there, sitting between Mike and Santana, sipping a coffee. Kurt had almost cried when he saw them all waiting for him, but he held it inside.

"So, Kurt," Mercedes said after a few minutes of catching up, "Are things with Blaine progressing at all?"

"Mm," Santana chimed in, eyes closed and lips twitched up, "When we saw him at Sectionals, I had to stop myself from jumping him. Too bad he's 'mo."

Kurt rolled his eyes, ignoring her and answering Mercedes, "No, we're just friends." Finn snorted, and his stepbrother narrowed his eyes at him, "What? We are!"

"Seems like Finn knows something you're not telling," Sam said with a smirk, draping an arm over the back of Quinn's chair.

"Yeah, Frankenteen," Santana waved her hand, "Spill it."

Finn glanced at Kurt, who had both eyebrows raised at him, "What could you _possibly_ mean?"

His stepbrother shrugged awkwardly, stirring his Coke with his straw, "I dunno, man. Just the way you guys look at each other, and the way you're always whispering and holding hands and stuff… And, I mean, he came home with you for the week-end. To meet our parents. To hang out in our town. That seems like something a…_boyfriend_," he did his best not to choke on the word, "Would do."

"_Aaaaaw_," was the consensus of the group. Even Schuester joined in.

Kurt shook his head, "I'm sorry, but no; we're just friends."

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much," Schuester quoted. "Or, gentleman."

"If Kurt's a lady, he's totally prettier than me," Brittany said softly from her place on Artie's lap.

The subject of all this speculation shook his head and sighed, "No, guys, really. Blaine hasn't hinted that he might have any feelings for me." _Except the recent gestures and flirty compliments_, an evil voice in his head objected. "Can we just drop it? I didn't come home to be grilled on my love life."

They all agreed to this, and then Rachel leaned across the table to get closer to him, "Then let's talk about Regionals. Can you drop us any hints that might help us be better prepared to stomp you guys into the ground?"

* * *

"Put it up, put it up!" Blaine shouted from across the court, swiveling around a tall body. Burt obeyed, shooting the basketball toward the net, though it was obvious it wasn't going to go in. Blaine jumped, hands landing on the ball and forcing it through the hoop, earning them another two points and securing their victory. They'd played a couple rounds of one-on-one in the community centre gymnasium before being challenged by two construction workers - Aaron and Jeff - to teams. As it turned out, Blaine and Burt were a force to be reckoned with.

"Yes!" Burt cheered, pumping his fists in the air and doing a little jump. He grabbed Blaine, looping one arm around the back of his neck and pulling him in for a half-hug, "That was unbelievable! How did you even do that?"

Blaine shook his head, breathless, "I don't even know, but it was awesome!"

"Hey, good game, guys," Jeff said, shaking hands with both of them. "You up for another?"

Blaine glanced at Burt, who took a deep breath, "I could use a break, actually. But don't count us out for later, okay?" Jeff agreed, jogging back over to Aaron while the other two men made their way to the short set of bleachers on one side of the gym, collecting the bottled waters they'd left there. They look a few moments to hydrate and steady their breathing before Burt finally spoke again.

"So, if I ask you something, will you promise to answer me honestly?"

Blaine's back stiffened and his eyes widened ever-so-slightly, but he held his composure. "Of course," he said, taking a casual sip of his water, "What's up?"

"It's about Kurt." Blaine held his breath. "Has he…you know… Has he been doing okay at Dalton?" He let out the breath, relieved, and listened as the concerned father went on, "I talk to him on the phone a lot, but I just feel like he's not telling me everything. He's not as talkative as he used to be, and I'm starting to worry that sending him to that school may not have been the best idea."

Blaine's muscles relaxed, and he shook his head, "No, I think it was a good idea. Kurt obviously has a great support system with his friends and family here, but ultimately, he needs to be in that kind of environment 24/7; he can only get that at Dalton. But," he sighed, capping his water and leaning back against the next level up, "He's still struggling."

"Struggling how?"

"He doesn't really talk to me about," Blaine frowned, "But from what I can tell, it's a lot of homesickness. And worrying about you. He told me about your heart attack, and I think that _he_ thinks you're not being taken care of if he's not here to do it." He ran a hand through his sweat-soaked hair and continued, "Beside that, I think he's just stressed about grades and Warbler practices; it's a little bit of a culture shock, I imagine." He offered the man a comforting smile, "But I wouldn't worry too much; he's still in that transition period. Things will be better for him soon."

Burt was quiet for a moment, nodding to himself, lips pressed together, and then he clapped a hand down on Blaine's shoulder. "You're a smart kid, and a good friend to my son; I appreciate that."

"I'm sensing a 'but' at the end of that sentence," the boy joked.

"_But_," Burt confirmed, "I'm not quite sure what to make of your relationship with him…"

Blaine stiffened again. He knew this conversation was coming (especially since he'd overheard Burt ask Kurt about it the night before), but that didn't make him any more prepared. So he did the only thing he could do. He told the truth. "I don't want to lie to you, Burt," he said, sitting up and clearing his throat, "Kurt is my friend, and I'm content with keeping him as my friend. But should things ever…_progress," _he shrugged lightly, "Well, I suppose I wouldn't be horribly opposed to that idea, either. And should that day ever come," he added tentatively, "I hope that we'd have your blessing."

Burt stared at him for a minute, and Blaine strongly considered standing up and running away as fast as his legs could carry him. But eventually, the man cracked a small smile and looked away, "Yeah, well, we'll see how the rest of the week-end goes."

"Hey, guys!" They both looked to the side to see Carole walking briskly toward them, holding up her cell phone, "Finn just called. He said they're on their way back to the house; he said that Kurt agreed to it!"

Burt clapped his hands together loudly, and Blaine looked back and forth in confusion. "Agreed to what?"

Carole chuckled deviously, "Family game night."


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee. I don't know why anyone would think that I do.  
**Summary:** When Kurt is feeling down, Blaine takes it upon himself to put together a week-end that he hopes will make him happy again.  
**Note:** This chapter is sort of scattered, sorry. I didn't do one continuous writing session like I usually do, so I kept losing track of my thoughts. Grrr.

* * *

"You have the weirdest music on here," Finn noted as he scrolled through Blaine's iPod. While Burt and Carole got snacks together and debated about what games to play, the boys were trying to decide whose music to play in the background. Kurt and Finn had almost immediately vetoed each other, which left Blaine's iPod in the middle.

"My music is weird?"

"Well, no, not the music," Finn corrected, hooking the device into the iHome, "It's just random. It goes from, like, showtunes to heavy metal."

Blaine shrugged, "I'm pretty eclectic. Oh, Kurt," he added to his friend, "How much time did you want to give to your English assignment tonight?"

"Um," the younger boy said distractedly, "An hour? Maybe two?" He'd been a little distant since Blaine got back to the house with Carole and Burt, and no one was really sure why. If any of them actually stopped to think about it, however, Kurt hoped that it would be obvious that seeing his love interest walk through his house, defined muscles glistening with sweat, looking all rough and manly, would affect him in certain ways. He was too busy trying to wipe the visual from his head to actually participate in any intelligent conversation right now.

"We can't decide between trivia and Scategories," Carole announced as she came into the room with a plate of nachos and a pitcher of ice tea. "What do you guys think?"

Finn shrugged, "That depends; how are we splitting up teams?"

"You boys against us."

He glanced at Kurt and Blaine and gave a short nod, "Then my vote is for trivia."

Blaine smirked, "Sure, trivia sounds fun." Kurt nodded numbly in agreement, trying his best to focus his attention.

Burt sat down in his recliner and took one of the trivia cards from the box on the coffee table, reading it and then shaking his head with an evil grin. "Right out of the gate, you guys get one of the hard ones. Good luck!" The three boys readied themselves as he read, "What did Leonardo da Vinci, Winston Churchill, Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, and General George Patton all have in common?"

Finn let out a loud groan of immediate defeat, and Kurt thought for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. Blaine looked at each of them with a smirk and then told Burt, "They were all dyslexic."

Burt's eyes went wide. "Crap."

* * *

"Last one," Carole said, holding up a trivia card. They'd been at it for over an hour and, though the boys had had a solid lead for a while - it was mostly Blaine, with Finn chiming in on sports and Kurt lending his expertise in pop culture - they were tied now. Twenty-one to twenty-one, Burt and Carole had missed their question, and if the boys could answer this one right, they won the whole game.

"What was the name of Don Quixote's horse?"

The three boys were silent for a moment, looking at each other, stumped. Finally, Kurt began snapping his fingers and bouncing in his seat, "Oh, oh! It was, um…god, what was it? Uh…oh, _Rocinante_!"

Carole tossed the card onto the table with a bitter sigh, "Yes."

Finn and Blaine both exploded in cheers, and Blaine grabbed Kurt, pulling him in for a tight hug. "Oh my god, someone actually paid attention to that book; bless you!" Kurt hugged him back, laughing, while his parents grumbled about their loss in the background. "We should've gone with Scategories," Burt said, while Carole glared at her son, "Stop looking so cheery."

Kurt was practically giggling from the combined glory of their win, and the feeling of Blaine's arms wrapped around him in a hug that was both innocent, and the furthest from. "I'm so glad I had Miss Holiday as an English sub last semester," he gushed, "Or else I would _not _have gotten that."

"Oh, speaking of English," Blaine said, finally releasing his friend, "We should probably get that project out of the way now, so it doesn't interfere with what your parents have planned for tonight."

"What do they have planned for tonight?" Kurt asked, eyes wide and suspicious as he turned them to Burt and Carole, who both looked away at the same time. "Dad?"

"Kurt," his father said sternly, "Go work on your project."

His son opened his mouth to press the matter, but before he could get a word out, Blaine had grabbed him by the elbow and was leading him toward the basement. "Traitor," Kurt hissed when his friend dumped him on the mini-couch in the corner and nudged his bag toward him with his toe.

"Yeah, yeah, get your book out," Blaine rolled his eyes and sat on the floor, back to the couch.

Kurt sighed and obeyed, pulling out the paperback copy of Salinger's Nine Stories, "My assignment is to create an alternative internal dialogue to 'Just Before the War with the Eskimos,' from Franklin's point of view." He groaned and turned to the appropriate story, "I just can't get inside the mind of any of Salinger's characters; they're too random."

"I understand," Blaine said, reaching up to take the book and skimming the first page, "Well, Franklin is a moderately complex character, for as simple as he seems. He's very gruff, and scatterbrained, but there are also hints of crisis. The way he sticks so close to Ginnie, and how he talks about her sister, alludes to him being lonely; isolated. We also see that he has heart problems, quit college, and seems disconnected from his family.

"He's an enigma," Blaine summed up. "It's your job to expose him."

Kurt rolled his eyes and dropped his head into his hands. "But how am I supposed to do that?" He mumbled helplessly, "It's easy in my head, but getting it on paper is a different story."

Blaine thought for a moment, then turned so he was facing his friend, "So talk it out first." At the skeptical look he received, he waved a hand, "No, hear me out; one of the best ways to get things from your mind to the paper, is to put dialogue in between. Play Franklin like a character. Use his dialogue from his book to act him out, and it'll get you in his head enough to articulate it."

"Play him like a character," Kurt repeated thoughtfully, tapping his pen against his notebook.

Blaine stood suddenly, sliding onto the couch and taking Kurt's hand, examining his finger closely. "How did you cut it?"

"What?" He asked, startled, not realizing that this line was completely in character.

"How did you cut it?"

Kurt stared at him for a moment, then took the book back and glanced at it, quoting, "Goddam if _I_ know. I was lookin' for something in the goddam wastebasket and it was fulla razor blades."

"You Selena's brother?" Blaine asked, not even needing to check the book for accuracy.

"Yeah. Christ, I'm bleedin' to death. Stick around. I may need a goddam transfusion." As this dialogue continued on, Kurt made another addition to his list.

8) He memorized Salinger.

* * *

"For almost seventeen years of my life," Kurt grumbled as he followed Blaine and Finn into the backseat of the car, "I get no surprises. Now, he can't stop with them. Dad, where are we _going_?" He demanded, crossing his arms over his chest.

Burt let out a loud sigh from behind the steering wheel, "Blaine, could you…?"

"Of course," Blaine said knowingly, putting one hand over Kurt's mouth and telling him, "Stop questioning your father. How about some trust?"

Kurt's eyes widened a little, and he just stared. Blaine had asked him to trust him a few times, and every time, Kurt had. And every time, Blaine had done right by him. "Well," he said, pushing Blaine hand away gently, "I suppose one more time wouldn't hurt." The dark haired boy fixed him with that patented furrowed brow, and Kurt added so only he could hear, "I always trust you." Now it was Blaine's turn to go wide-eyed, and a slow smile snuck across his face. Very discretely, he dropped his hand down to the seat, giving his friend's hand a little squeeze. Kurt blushed and squeezed back as Burt put the car in gear.

"Crap," Finn hissed on Blaine's other side, glaring at the screen of his iPod, "I forgot to charge it. Blaine, man," he sighed, "Would you mind if I listened to yours on the way there?"

"No, go for it," Blaine wrestled his iTouch out of his coat pocket and handed it to him. Finn thanked him and hooked in his earbuds, going through the choices again. At one point, his finger stilled on the screen and he raised an eyebrow, glancing at Blaine quickly and then back to the screen.

"Whoa," he murmured to himself. In the Playlist section, there was one clearly labeled **Kurt**.

* * *

"Dad," Kurt breathed, face practically pressed against his window, "The White Light Festival? We haven't been to one since I was twelve!" The White Light Festival was a food and music event in Whermer (about half an hour away from Lima) that attracted people from all over the county ever year. They decorated the Whermer Mansion with white rope lights and candles and fake snow, and there was always tons of gourmet food and desserts, not to mention an amazing live band that took requests and did dedications. It had been one of his mother's favorite things in the world, and they went a few times after she died, but it had been a long time.

Burt took his key out of the ignition and popped open his door, "Yeah, Carole saw that it was this week-end and called it fate. Said we had to come."

"Carole, thank you so much!" Kurt squealed, opening his own door so that he could pull her into a tight hug. Then he reached out to grab Blaine by the wrist and started tugging him toward the double French doors, "Come on! We have to get in there before the Whermer High football team gets to the buffet. Unless things have drastically changed in the last four years, they're still pigs." Blaine went along with him, with Finn, Carole, and Burt close behind.

Inside, the first floor of the mansion was pretty full, but left plenty of room to navigate through to the main room, where the band and buffet were. "Yes! We beat them," Kurt cheered, picking up a plastic plate at the end of one table and immediately loading it up with all of the food on the line.

Blaine looked over his shoulder at Burt. "You didn't tell me he would be _this_ excited."

"I guess I repressed it."

Once they all had enough food to fill them up - "they run out fast," Kurt had assured them - they found an empty table near where the band was set up and started eating. "Oh, my god," Finn's eyes rolled back into his head as he took the first bite, "I don't know what I just ate, but it was delicious."

Kurt rolled his eyes, "Those were cheesy mashed potatoes, Finn."

"Oh."

Carole looked up suddenly as a tune began playing, and her eyes brightened, "Our song! Burt, we have to dance." He looked reluctant, and she swatted him with her napkin, "It's our _song_."

"We danced to it a couple of months ago," Burt grumbled, but allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, "Don't I get a grace period?" Nevertheless, there was a smile on his face as his wife led him to the floor, and held her the way Kurt had taught him during dance lessons. Kurt watched with pride as they moved to the beat of "Sway," smiling and staring into each others' eyes like no one else in the world existed.

"God, I want that someday," Blaine said absentmindedly as he watched the couple. When he realized he'd said the world out loud and Kurt and Finn were both looking at him, he flushed a little and shrugged. "You know, being with that one person that means the entire world to you; the one that you can't stand being away from for more than an hour. Don't you guys want that?"

Finn shrugged, "I'd be happy to find a woman who didn't cheat on me and could cook a mean grilled cheese, but yeah, I guess your thing sounds good too."

"It sounds _perfect_," Kurt corrected, and Blaine gave him a grateful little nod. Once again, their eyes locked for a long moment, blue on hazel, and neither of them wanted to be the first to look away.

Finn cleared his throat awkwardly, not quite ready to be the witness to such an intimate moment between his stepbrother and another guy. They both looked at him, cheeks a little pink, and he smirked apologetically. "This, uh," he gestured to his plate, "Other cheesy thing is really good."

Kurt leaned forward to inspect the food, and told him, "That's a mini cordon bleu. That's," he rolled his eyes when Finn looked completely lost, "Chicken, with ham and cheese in the middle."

The tall teen's eyes went round with awe, "That's the most brilliant idea I've ever heard."

"Oh, I just thought of how to end my English project!" Kurt announced suddenly, whipping his phone out of his pocket, "I'm going to e-mail it to myself so I don't forget."

Blaine smiled at him, "See, I knew you'd get it."

"With your help."

"Nah, it was-" He stopped abruptly when a girl - around their age, with cherry-red hair and bright blue eyes - approached the table and stopped beside his chair. "Hello," he greeted.

"Hi," the girl said shyly, tucking her hair behind her ear and swinging from side to side, making the skirt of her baby-blue dress twirl around her knees. "Um, I was just wondering if maybe you'd…like to dance?"

Blaine raised an eyebrow, but - never one to be rude - he gave a single nod and stood, telling the other boys he'd be right back, and followed the girl to the floor. Kurt watched with unwarranted jealousy as the girl slid her arms over Blaine's shoulders, body close to his. Then he laughed when Blaine took a step back and took one of her hands in his, putting distance between them for a more formal dancing style. He led her with ease to the simple 1-2-3-4, lips moving as he spoke to her about something, smiling when she giggled flirtatiously.

9) He could dance.

"Kurt," Finn waved his hand in front of his stepbrother's face, "Dude, you're staring."

"Am I?" He shook his head, as if to clear it, and sighed, "Sorry, I was just thinking."

"'Just thinking,' he says," Carole teased as she and Burt returned to the table, all smiles. "Sweetheart, you couldn't fool us with that if you tried; we're your family." Burt looked like he wanted to be upset by what she was insinuating, but the fact was: He couldn't. He wanted to hate Blaine - he was supposed to hate any boy that showed interest in his teenage son, right? - but he just couldn't bring himself to. He was every parent's dream.

When Kurt looked back to the dance floor, Blaine was giving the redhead's hand a gentle squeeze and starting back toward the table, only to be intercepted by a curvy blonde in a bright pink mini-skirt. He looked past her, to the table, with an apologetic look and then gave the girl a nod, once again walking out to the floor. "Well," Kurt joked to hide his dismay, "He certainly is popular."

"It's because he looks like he belongs in GQ," Carole said around a mouthful of cookie, with a sage-like nod. "Ladies love a well-dressed man."

"Excuse me," Kurt feigned offense, "_I_ am a _very_ well-dressed man."

"I meant more like James Bond clothes," she clarified.

"You meant more like men's clothes," he countered, but with a playful smirk. She just shrugged and gave him a one-armed hug, kissing his cheek and offering him a cookie from her plate.

Before the second dance was even over, a tiny thing in a black dress cut in and stole Blaine away from the blonde. After the third, Blaine actually managed to get back to the table and sit down before being approached again, and Kurt could see him visibly blanch.

"Actually," Kurt piped when Blaine opened his mouth to answer the woman who looked a little too older for the strapless sunflower-yellow dress she wore, "My friend has never been here before, so I was just about to take him out to see the snowdrops and aconites."

The woman barely shot him a glance before smiling a huge, predatory smile at Blaine, reaching out to touch his arm, "I'd be glad to show you. Come on," she practically purred, "How about ditching your little puppy-dog friend and I can tell you all you need to know."

"Oh, honey," Kurt said with saccharine-sweetness, his bitch-level going up ever so slightly, "If you know more about snowdrops and aconites than I do, I will personally take you to Macy's and buy you some clothes that actually fit."

Blaine's jaw dropped, as did Burt's. Kurt had an attitude on him, sure, but he was rarely ever so obvious about it. Especially to someone he didn't know. While the woman stood there stupidly, trying to think of a clever retort, Kurt slipped by her and took his friend by the arm, tugging him toward the door on the far end of the main room, which led out to the backyard. "Wow," Blaine laughed shortly, "That was a little harsh."

"She called me puppy-dog," Kurt defended, wrinkling up his nose, "As far as I'm concerned, she deserved it. I really do want to show you this," he added, opening the door, "It's really something."

The backyard was an endless field of green, with huge, stone-marked squares that served as individual gardens. Right now, under more soft white lights, each individual garden was filled with white bell flowers, and bright yellow buttercups. Blaine stood perfectly still, taking it all in. It was beautiful.

"This was my mother's favorite part of coming here," Kurt said softly, smiling as he watched the other boy's reaction, "She used to tell me stories. She said that, in Greek mythology, aconite was believed to be made from the saliva of Cerberus, and that it was poisonous. And she said that snowdrops," he kneeled to touch one of the white bells, "Were the magical herbs in Homer's Odyssey that counteracted Circe's poisons."

Blaine kneeled down next to him, but stayed silent as Kurt continued to admire the flower, "The snowdrops were her favorite. You're not supposed to pick them, you know, because they're sort of rare; that always made her sad. She could never take one home with her."

The older boy was still for a moment, before draping one arm over his friend's shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. "Maybe we should go see her before we leave tomorrow."

Kurt turned to him, seeing the honest caring and concern in his eyes, and he couldn't help but smile. "I'd like that."

* * *

"But slow it down," Finn was saying to the band's guitarist when his stepbrother and his guest crossed back to their table. "Make it a slow dance."

"Make what a slow dance?" Kurt inquired, making Finn jump.

"What? Oh, nothing," he lied (horribly) before shuffling back to their table. Blaine and Kurt raised their eyebrows at each other before going off in opposite directions; Kurt back to the table, and Blaine to the buffet line for two hot cups of coffee. Once he got back to the table - juggling sugar packets and creamer with the cups - he took his seat and joined the rest of the group in watching Finn curiously as he shot glances at the band.

Blaine nudged Kurt and handed him his coffee, never taking his eyes off of the tall teen. "Is he always this…odd?" Kurt and Carole both nodded. Eventually, they all lost interest and went back to conversing about the festival, school, what time the boys were leaving the next day. Then, after a good ten minutes, the band started to play a familiar tune, slowed down and softened. Blaine was in the middle of telling a story that involved a teacher's apple and accidental food poisoning, when he felt a sharp kick to his ankle. He wrinkled his forehead at Finn - the culprit - and the boy responded by nodding his head discretely toward the band.

Blaine didn't understand, until he listened for a moment and was able to pick up the general tune. He raised his shoulders in a "so what?" gesture, to which Finn reached into his pocket and pulled out Blaine's iTouch, wiggling it with a dorky grin. The dark-haired boy's eyes went wide, and when Finn started nodding toward his stepbrother, he got nervous.

Nevertheless, he swallowed roughly and leaned toward Kurt, saying quietly, "Do you think it would bother your dad if…_we_…danced?"

Kurt reacted as if he'd been waiting for this question all night. He didn't even bother answering his friend; instead, he stood and announced to his parents, "Blaine and I are dancing; don't get all weird about it." With that, he grabbed the other boy's hand and eagerly led him to the dance floor, where at least a dozen other couples were already swaying to the beat. Once they were there, however, it was a little less exciting and a little more awkward. How did you slow-dance with another guy in public? It wasn't exactly something they covered in ballroom classes. Who put which hands where? Who led? How far apart were you supposed to stand?

In the end, they ended up in the default structure, with one of Kurt's hands on Blaine's shoulder, and Blaine's hand on Kurt's waist, free hands cupped together. Blaine stepped forward, which meant Kurt stepped back, and there was no longer any debate about who was leading. It only took four steps for them to melt into it, and from there, they were lost.

"_She doesn't own a dress_

_Her hair is always a mess_

_You catch her stealin', she won't confess_

_She's beautiful_"

Blaine hadn't considered, when he'd allowed Finn to borrow his iPod, that he might find his Kurt playlist, let alone look through the songs on it. "Meet Virginia" was the most recently added one (he'd put it on after their run-in in the commons a few nights before), and Finn - contrary to his oblivious expressions and general behavior - had cleverly taken advantage of this situation. Blaine had to admit, it was pretty sweet of him.

"It's so crazy," Kurt murmured, drawing Blaine's attention. He blushed and clarified, "In Lima, if you and I were dancing together, we'd get jumped. But in Whermer, it's not a big deal at all. I hate that."

"Let's not think about things we hate right now," Blaine suggested, holding his hand a little tighter. He caught Kurt's gaze in his own and held it until he nodded in agreement and they continued to step to the simple count of the song, matching grins on their faces. Somewhere in the background, Burt, Carole and Finn were staring, one of them gushing, one of them smirking, and one of them torn between being happy for them and going to get his shotgun. Somewhere in the background, somewhere around one hundred people were eating, talking, dancing, enjoying the festivities. Somewhere in the background, a baby was crying and a misplaced glass was shattering on the floor. None of these things registered in this moment, however; this moment was all their own.

"_She only drinks coffee at midnight_," Blaine sang the verse that had inspired him to add the song to his playlist in the first place, "_When the moment is not right; the timing is quite unusual_." Kurt flushed and ducked his head, but the smile never left his face. "_You see, her confidence is tragic, but her intuition, magic. And the shape of her body_," he gave his dancing partner's waist a little squeeze for good measure, "_Unusual. Meet Virginia. I can't wait to meet Virginia." _He stopped singing and snickered, "You're red as a tomato right now; am I embarrassing you?"

Kurt shook his head, "Not in a bad way."

The song ended then, but they held their position for a long beat afterward, just staring. Blaine pressed his lips together and finally told him, "I know what I want to do right now, but your dad kind of looks like he might kill me if I do, so…"

If Kurt was red before, he could only imagine that his face now looked like Yosemite Sam after being thwarted for the thousandth time by Bugs Bunny. Was Blaine really saying what he thought he was saying? "Y-you'd…I mean…you actually want to-"

"Yeah," Blaine interrupted with a laugh, squeezing the boy's hand, "But I'm not going to, for the previously stated reason. So let's go sit back down," he took a step back, "And try not to get shot by Burt."

"Oh, he won't shoot me," Kurt said without thinking about it, "I'm his golden boy. He'll only shoot you."

"Comforting, Kurt, thanks." When they got back to the table, Burt was indeed watching Blaine with a furrowed brow, making the boy shift in his seat and offer, "So…what are your thoughts on the Buckeyes?" While they tripped down the road in that awkwardly posed conversation, Kurt took out his mental pen and paper and added another item to his list.

10) He wants to kiss me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee. I don't know why anyone would think that I do.  
**Summary:** When Kurt is feeling down, Blaine takes it upon himself to put together a week-end that he hopes will make him happy again.  
**Note:** One more chapter after this one. Thanks for stickin' around, folks! Means a lot to me!

* * *

"You kids not tired yet?" Burt asked, wandering into the living room for at least the seventh time since they got home. "I think the pizza place is still open; we could order a pizza and watch Sports Center for a while." Blaine and Kurt, both in their pajamas and sitting (with a fair distance between them) on the folded out mattress, staring at him with big eyes.

"I," Blaine drew out, glancing at Kurt, not knowing what to say.

Kurt, in turn, just rolled his eyes and yelled, "Carole!"

"Burt!" The woman yelled back immediately from her bedroom, "Get in here right now and leave those boys alone."

Her husband looked over his shoulder, then back at the boys reluctantly. Finally, he sighed and forced a smile, "Don't stay up too late, okay? And Blaine," the dark-haired boy looked like a deer in the headlights as he looked up. But instead of something veiled and threatening, the man said, "Today was a good day. Thanks for going along with our craziness." He looked like he wanted to say more - "keep your filthy paws off of my son," for example - but he left it at that, bidding them goodnight and disappearing down the hallway. Once he was gone, Blaine and Kurt looked at each other and let out matching sighs of relief.

"I think I may have completely screwed up the budding friendship I had going with your dad," Blaine said, disappointment in his voice, thinking of how Burt had been after the dance. Any time Blaine and Kurt would start talking to each other about a common interest, he would cut in with some random sports observation, and he even had Finn sit between them on the drive home. Now, he was bending over backwards to keep from leaving them unchaperoned in the living room, on the pull-out bed.

Kurt snorted, "No, he loves you, I can tell. He's just a little overprotective."

"He doesn't have to be," Blaine grumbled with a cute little pout, picking at the hem of his t-shirt. "I'm a good guy; I'm not going to do wrong by you."

The younger boy's heart leapt at that last part, but he swallowed the elation down and gently patted his friend's hand, "I know. And he knows. It just comes with the territory, I think."

Blaine smiled at him, rotating his hand so he could squeeze Kurt's and pull him a little closer. "Want to watch a movie?"

"Sure," Kurt smiled at the subject change, gesturing to the shelves below the flat screen TV, each of them filled with DVDs. "Pick a good one; I'll make some coffee."

"Sounds like a plan."

As Kurt waited for the kettle to heat up, he couldn't stop the big smile on his face. He couldn't help how happy he was. Not only had Blaine confessed a degree of feeling for him, but even after the fact, it wasn't awkward. They were the same as always - light touches, flirty comments, and sitting down for a casual movie viewing without any hesitation. They weren't jumping on each other (slightly to Kurt's dismay), but they weren't pulling away from each other either.

By the time he made it back out to the living room, Blaine had loaded a DVD into the player and taken up his spot on the bed again. Kurt sat down, handing him a coffee, and watched as the title menu played through. "Random Harvest," he recognized with delight, "I didn't know you liked old movies."

"Please, back when romance was actually romantic? I'm all for it," he pressed play on the DVD remote, "I'm just surprised you didn't bring this one to school with you."

"Dad told me I should choose between musicals and oldies. It was one of the hardest decisions of my life."

Blaine chuckled and reached over to flip off the light, leaving them in the dark as the black and white picture began to play. After the opening credits, he said, "Are you going to sit all the way over there the whole time?"

Kurt almost choked on his mouthful of coffee, "Huh?"

Instead of answering, Blaine simply stretched out his arm and looked at his friend expectantly. Cautiously, Kurt scooted over under his shoulders were against the arm, and he kept his eyes fixed on the movie. Maybe coming back from the festival hadn't been awkward, but this was. This wasn't hand holding or a pat on the shoulder; this was…almost cuddling.

Feeling the way Kurt's back tensed, Blaine said, "You don't have to, you know, if you're uncomfortable with it-"

"No, no," the younger boy protested quickly, "I'm not." He took a few subtle, deep breaths and forced himself to relax, the muscles in his back loosening slowly but surely. Pretty soon - while John watched from the balcony as Paula performed "Daisy" to a full house - Kurt found his head being pulled by some gravitational force to Blaine's shoulder, and he smiled when he felt his arm hold him just a little more tightly.

11) He liked to cuddle.

An hour later, they were both slumped down a little, Kurt's head still on Blaine's shoulder, one arm draped across his chest, and eyes drifting shut at the peaceful sensation of Blaine's fingers playing with his hair. They were breathing in sync, Kurt inhaling every time Blaine's chest rose with a breath, and exhaling when it released, memorizing the scent of him, the way it felt to be this close. They might not get a lot of chances to be this way at school. Sure, the boys were allowed to hang out in each other's dorms - and even sleep over, if they cleared it with Keith first - but Kurt wasn't so sure Blaine would be this cozy when one of their roommates was in the same room.

"You should know better than to think so hard around me," Blaine said suddenly, a chuckle rumbling in his chest and tickling Kurt's ear. "I always know when there's something on your mind."

It was pointless to try to deny anymore, so the younger boy sighed and shrugged, "I was just thinking about when we get back to school, and…" He trailed off, not knowing how to phrase it without potentially making an ass of himself.

"_And_," Blaine filled in, "How I'm going to act with you?" Kurt nodded wordlessly, and received another laugh in response, "Kurt, everyone at Dalton knows I'm gay. They know you're gay. And they're still our friends; there's no reason to hide anything from them. If we decide that _this_," he waved between the two of them, "Is something we want to pursue, then we'll pursue it just like any other relationship."

The younger boy popped his head up, brow furrowed as he found Blaine's eyes, "How is it always so easy for you to talk like that?"

"Talk like what?"

"About," he shrugged, "About what's going on between us. You talk about us pursuing a relationship, caring about me, wanting to," he coughed and said quietly, "_Kiss_ me." He shook his head, "I just don't understand how it's all so easy for you to talk about."

Blaine smiled softly and reached up to brush a strand of Kurt's hair out of his bright blue eyes. "It's easy to talk about something when you've rehearsed what you're going to say in your head a thousand times a day." A moment of silent passed between them before Blaine gestured for him to lay back down, and he obeyed. They didn't say any more on the subject, but by the end of the movie, they were both fast asleep in each others' arms.

* * *

Sunday morning was awkward. But if there was a god, Kurt was a little more likely to believe in him now that some force had woken Finn up at eight, before the rest of the family (a once in a lifetime occurrence), and he'd been the one to discover the two boys curled up together. He'd kept a safe distance, poking Kurt's foot with a coat hanger until he opened his eyes and, seeing the look in his stepbrother's eyes, slid reluctantly out of Blaine's embrace.

"Dude, you gotta be more careful," Finn hissed once they were both in the kitchen and Kurt was fumbling sleepily with the coffee pot. "If Burt had woken up before me, you'd be toast right now."

"I know," Kurt yawned, turning away from the pot and reaching out to put a hand on Finn's shoulder, "I appreciate you waking me up. We were watching a movie, and we dozed off; you're right, I would have been screwed. I owe you one."

His stepbrother nodded, "Damn straight." Then he added with a hopeful look on his face, "Will you make me some waffles?"

"Fresh or frozen?"

"I'm not picky."

Kurt laughed and pulled a box of Eggos out of the freezer, turning toward the toaster. "So I feel like we haven't really had any one-on-one time since I got back," he stated with a frown, "Catch me up; what's been going on with you and Rachel?"

Finn sighed and sat down at the table, "Nothing good."

"Want to talk about it?"

The tall teen glanced through to the living room, where Blaine was still fast asleep, and then back at his stepbrother. "You know," he said slowly, "I actually do."

Half an hour later, when Burt and Carole woke and made their way to the kitchen, their sons were halfway through an entire box of waffles and a pot of coffee, and caught up in what appeared to be a very deep conversation. "You just have to remember," Kurt was saying as they entered, "That it's not your fault. She is in control of her own actions and emotions; what she did was wrong, and you did nothing to influence it. She made that decision all on her own."

Finn nodded solemnly, pushing a few crumbs around in the lake of syrup that remained on his plate. "Is it stupid that I miss her?"

"Yes," Kurt said with a definitive nod, then added, "But love is supposed to be stupid."

"Boys," Carole said, giving them both an odd look as she made her way through to the refrigerator, "What are you doing up so early?"

Finn's mouth immediately snapped shut, embarrassed at having been caught in such a personal conversation, but Kurt said with ease, "Oh, just catching up. Brotherly bonding and whatnot."

Burt started refilling the coffee pot, and said over his shoulder, "That's good to hear. So, uh, Kurt…how did you sleep last night?" He may as well have said what he meant, because it was loud and clear to everyone else in the kitchen: _Where_ did you sleep last night?

Before his son could reply, Finn opened his mouth and offered, "He must have slept really well, because he woke me up singing in his sleep. Twice," he added for good measure, then glanced at his stepbrother, "Showtunes."

Kurt stared at him for a moment, then grinned and looked back at his father, "I had this _outstanding_ dream that I was cast as Elphaba in a worldwide tour of Wicked."

"Well, that's, uh," Burt paused, "Something."

Carole gave him a playful shove and took a sip of her orange juice, shooting a sorrowful expression at her stepson. "So, Kurt, what time were you boys going to take off today?"

"Probably sometime in the early afternoon," he said with a regretful sigh; he wasn't ready to leave home yet. Not even close. "We have Warbler practice at five, and I still have some homework to finish that I didn't get to this week-end."

"Then we're going to have to cram in a lot before you leave," she said with a firm nod. "Shopping, lunch, ice cream-"

"It's thirty-one degrees out," Burt interjected.

"Coffee," she substituted, then continued, "Maybe a movie somewhere in between."

Kurt held up a hand and laughed, "Let's not be too ambitious. Shopping alone is going to suck up most of the time."

"Yeah, you're probably-" Carole cut herself off when they heard the loud squeak of mattress springs and Blaine shuffled into the kitchen, eyes barely open and hair a mess, breathing in through his nose and stretching out his long, lithe figure. It took all Kurt had to keep from staring. "Oh," his stepmother said with a smile, "Good morning, sleepyhead."

He yawned and laughed at the same time. "The funny thing is, I'm usually the first one up; guess I just slept too well last night." Kurt went cold, hoping his father didn't get any ideas from that little statement. Sensing the same thing, Blaine added, "I was watching Random Harvest when I fell asleep, and my entire dream took place in a black and white movie; it was pretty much the coolest thing ever." Burt nodded, satisfied with this, and Blaine gently nudged Kurt's shoulder, "Hey, were we still going to go-"

"Oh," Kurt remembered before he even had the chance to finish. "Carole, can we make our shopping date for ten or so? I told Blaine I'd take him somewhere special today."

"Special?" Burt looked up from his coffee cup, suspicion in his eyes, "Where's special?"

His son was quiet for a moment, then said softly, "We were going to go see Mom."

Everything was silent in the kitchen for what felt like an eternity, before Carole finally said, "Well, in that case, let's make our shopping date for eleven; take your time."

By nine o'clock, both boys were showered and dressed in the nicest clothes they'd packed, and on their way to the St. Christopher Cemetery. Kurt was driving, because there were a lot of odd twists and turns on the way, and Blaine was holding the bouquet of daffodils they'd stopped to buy at the flower shop. Kurt was trying his best to keep a conversation going, but he kept trailing off, somberness already taking him over. It had been almost a year since the last time he'd been to visit his mother, and he felt guilty that he'd been away so long.

The cemetery was covered with fresh snow, but the groundskeeper had obviously been through, because all of the markers were cleared and identifiable. Not that Kurt would have needed to see them. He knew exactly where his mother's grave was. She'd been buried near the bell tower, under the shade of a willow tree; he remembered falling asleep under that tree too many times to count in the first years after his mother's death. There was no way he'd ever not be able to find her.

"Here," Kurt led Blaine by the hand to a marble headstone, stopping when they were upon it.

"_Elizabeth Marie Hummel_," his friend read aloud in a light voice, "_Beloved wife and mother. 1971 - 2003_." Above the words was a photograph, set behind a hard, clear plastic in the stone. It was a woman with soft blonde curls and blue eyes that rivaled Kurt's in brightness. She was smiling the most genuine smile Blaine had ever seen, head tilted back slightly, like she was laughing. "She's beautiful," Blaine whispered, lacing his fingers with Kurt's. "You look so much like her."

Kurt smiled at him weakly and knelt down, snow seeping through the knee of his slacks, but he didn't care. He was just trying not to cry. It had been years, and he was mostly past breaking down when he thought about his mother, but he still missed her every single day, and it still made his chest tighten to be at her headstone. He ran his fingers over the ice cold marble for a long moment, though he'd long since memorized the feel of it, and then he said, "Can I have the flowers, please?" He reached his arm out to Blaine, but never took his eyes off of the headstone.

He expected to feel the crinkle of the paper cone in his palm, but instead, he felt only a single stem. Confused, he glanced over his shoulder and saw that, in one hand, Blaine still held the daffodils; the other was pressing a white flower into his friend's hand. It took him a minute, but Kurt finally focused enough to realize what it was. A snowdrop.

"Blaine," he could barely speak, throat thick with emotion, "You-"

"You said they were her favorite," the dark haired boy answered, equally as quiet. "I thought she'd probably like one snowdrop better than a dozen daffodils."

Speechless, Kurt closed his fingers around the stem and stared at the flower for a long time before finally placing it in the metal vase that was mounted at the base of the headstone. "You took this from the garden? Even though I told you people aren't allowed to?"

Blaine shrugged and knelt down next to him, gingerly touching the bell of the flower, "Like I said, you said they were her favorite." He looked around, then whispered like it was a huge secret, "So I snuck it into my pocket when no one was looking."

Kurt blinked at him, then smiled at the grave, "Mom, this is Blaine. He's a very good friend of mine, and I think it's important that you know who he is."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Hummel," the older boy said, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder and staring at her name. They stayed there for a long time - eventually, Kurt began to cry a little, and Blaine stroked his hair comfortingly, but neither of them said a word. It wasn't necessary, right now. They both understood loss, and how words offered no solace. This was all he could do; simply be there.

Blaine wasn't sure how much time had passed when Kurt started swiping at his face and sniffing, pulling himself together. "It's cold," he said, voice hoarse and cracking, "We should get going."

"You sure?" His friend felt he had to ask.

Kurt just nodded, taking the daffodils and placing the cone on the grave next to his mother's - Mr. Heffernan - and slowly stood, brushing snow from his pantlegs. He reached for Blaine's hand, pulling him up, and started turning away. "Bye, Mom," he said, with one last sorrowful glance at the headstone.

"Goodbye, Mrs. Hummel," Blaine said as he followed his friend to the car, this time sliding into the driver's side while Kurt took the passenger's, immediately leaning his head on Blaine's shoulder and gripping the arm of his coat. He didn't care about being strong in front of him anymore; he knew now that he wouldn't be judged if he was weak for a little while.

Blaine held one of his hands tightly as he drove. He didn't let go.

* * *

They left Lima shortly after three, after two hours of shopping, lunch, coffee, and some time spent just hanging out at the house, talking. As Kurt tried to fit all of his new purchases alongside his baggage in the car, Burt pulled Blaine aside for one last conversation. "Listen, yesterday afternoon," he sounded as though he'd rather be talking about anything else, "You said that, if the day ever came that things progressed between you and my son, you'd…like my blessing." Blaine didn't say anything. He didn't even change his expression. He just kept his eyes fixed on the man.

"Well," Burt continued, rubbing the back of his neck, "It kind of looks like things might be progressing, so I just wanted you to know that," he cleared his throat and shrugged, "You have my blessing."

Blaine's face immediately lit up in a bright smile, which he tried in vain to stifle. "That's good to hear, sir," he reached out to shake his hand. "It's going to be a confusing road, with Kurt and I trying to figure out what it is we're doing, but it's good to know that we won't have to worry about you being against us. That'll take a lot of weight off."

Burt nodded, letting go of his hand and gesturing toward the car, "It looks like he finally got everything together."

"I'll let you two say goodbye, then," Blaine took out his keys and went to start the car as Kurt took turns hugging the members of his family. Once he was securely buckled into the passenger's seat, Blaine put the car in gear and they started their trip back to Lima.

"This was a good week-end," he stated, and Blaine nodded in agreement. "Can I, um," he said softly, fiddling with his fingers, "Can I ask you something?" Another nod. "Last night, you said you wanted to…kiss me," the words tripped awkwardly off of his tongue, "But you didn't, because my dad was there."

"Yeah," Blaine said slowly, one eyebrow raised, not knowing where this was going.

"So," Kurt said, equally as slow, "Why didn't you…later? Like when we were watching the movie, or when we were alone today? Did you," he took a deep breath, "Change your mind? About me?"

Blaine gave him a quick, wide-eyed glance, "What? _No_," he shook his head fiercely, "Absolutely not. It's just that, the moment after the dance was perfect, but I couldn't act on it. I guess I'm just," he shrugged, "Waiting for another perfect moment. Because you deserve no less than that."

"Pull over," Kurt said suddenly.

"What?"

"_Pull over_."

Blaine's brow furrowed in confusion, but he did as he was told, pulling into a mostly-empty drugstore parking lot. He turned to his friend and asked, "What's going on?"

There was no answer. Instead, Kurt put one hand on either side of his face and pulled him close, pressing their lips together hard and fast, every nerve showing as the world exploded with a single kiss.

He pulled back almost as quickly as he leaned in and said softly, "What you just said, that was perfect for me."

Blaine just stared at him with a stunned expression, and then very slowly, began to smile. Without a word, he reached around and threaded his fingers through Kurt's hair, pulling him closer again. This time, when their lips met, it was slow and soft, filled with so much emotion that they could barely comprehend. Kurt's hands slipped from Blaine face, to his shoulders, and he tried his best to remember how people kissed in the movies. Did he tilt his head like this? Did he open his lips like that? Where were his hands supposed to go? What sounds was he supposed to be making?

He gave up. He couldn't remember a single thing about the etiquette of kissing. He couldn't form any thoughts at all; it was like he was running on pure feeling. So he tightened his hands over Blaine's shoulders and tipped his head to the side, relishing the feeling of the soft set of lips on his own, the hand that was playing with his hair, the chest that was pressed against his. He could feel them breathing together again, and there was something so poetic about the matching inhale and exhale.

Blaine never broke the barrier of his lips - though, on some level, Kurt was praying he would - but the kiss still lasted for the longest minute of either of their lives. When the dark haired boy finally pulled away, eyes still closed, Kurt rested his forehead against his and took several deep breaths, trying to clear his head. "That was…" he said roughly, trailing off, at a loss for words.

"Perfect?" Blaine guessed, eyes finally opening. They were almost a pure honey color, and Kurt could feel himself getting lost in them.

"Perfect," Kurt replied, practically beaming at him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Glee. I don't know why anyone would think that I do.  
**Summary:** When Kurt is feeling down, Blaine takes it upon himself to put together a week-end that he hopes will make him happy again.  
**Note:** This is the last chapter, just tying everything up. Thanks so much to everyone for your kind reviews! I love those a lot. This definitely won't be my last Klainefic!3

* * *

"Why are you all smiling like that?"

The boys had made it back to Dalton before four, but instead of hopping right out of the car, Kurt had sat perfectly still for a long time, studying the dorm with solemn eyes. "What's wrong?" Blaine had asked, hand stilled on his own door handle, "I thought you were in a good mood now."

"I am," Kurt had insisted, though his words were contradicted by his tone. "I'm just worried that, in a day or two, I'm going to go back to feeling exactly like I did before we left." He'd sighed then, "I'm going to go right back to being the new kid; the outcast. The idiot."

Blaine had taken his chin in his hand and forced him to look into his eyes, saying seriously, "You're not an idiot, or an outcast, and things are _going _to get better. Just trust me." There were those words again, and just like always, Kurt had had no choice but to believe them. So he'd helped Blaine unload bags, then gone to his room to unpack and reluctantly don his uniform once more.

When he walked into the practice room an hour later, all of the Warblers turned their eyes to him with matching smiles that made his skin crawl. "We're smiling," Wes answered, "Because we have a new job for you."

Kurt gulped. He hadn't been at Dalton long enough to showcase all of his talents, so he couldn't imagine what they could possibly have in store for him. Maybe it was something humiliating, like wearing a giant canary outfit, or fetching them their morning coffee. "And what's that?" He asked cautiously.

"Choreographer."

_Wait, wait, wait_, Kurt thought. _Stop. Rewind. Play. What did he say_?

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head slightly, "Could you repeat that? Because I think I'm confused."

Wes took a step forward, putting a hand on Kurt's shoulder, "Not specifically for dancing, but for overall movement." Kurt stared at him helplessly, not understanding, and he laughed, "Blaine had us watch some of the New Directions performances online, and they're good. They're very active, but together at the same time, and everyone plays an important part." Wes glanced at the other Warblers, "We all agreed that that's something we're lacking in. We've always wanted our audience to see us as one being; now we realize that it's good for them to see us as individuals too."

Kurt raised his eyebrows, a tentative grin creeping across his face. "So you want _me _to change up our performances?"

"Absolutely," David chimed in from the couch, "Starting today. We have a new song, and we're splitting up the solos."

Kurt clapped his hands together, his grin now a full-fledged smile, and asked, "So what song are we doing?"

"Blaine picked it," David handed him his sheet music, "'Meet Virginia.'" Kurt felt himself flush, and he looked up at Blaine, who just shrugged and winked at him. David crossed his arms over his chest and smiled encouragingly, "Any immediate ideas?"

Kurt cleared his throat and thought for a moment. "Okay, I definitely think we need to put more of a theatricality to our performance. Really put emotion into what we're singing."

And so it went for the next two hours.

* * *

Blaine was staring at the huge bruise on his forearm as he and Kurt walked down the hall after practice. "I just don't understand," he said with a shake of his head, "Why you are so obsessed with me jumping up on the furniture. I swear, my entire body is a bruise right now."

"It's not my fault you're so uncoordinated," Kurt said absently. He was still flying high over how great the practice had gone, and how everyone had seemed to genuinely support all of his ideas. He'd come a long way from getting his Duran Duran idea shot down at the beginning of his Warbler career. "Oh, hey," he said suddenly, "Would you mind going over my math homework with me later? I think I did an entire section wrong."

"Sure, no problem," Blaine agreed, tugging the sleeve of his jacket down over the big purple splotch carefully. Then he added, "See, didn't I tell you that things would be better?"

"You did."

"It's a good thing you decided to trust me."

"'Decided,'" Kurt scoffed. "I never had a choice in the matter; I've always trusted you."

Without warning, Blaine grabbed his hand to stop his stride, and used it to pull him close. Kurt immediately blushed. Sure, Blaine had _said_ that things wouldn't be secretive and awkward between them when they got back to school, but on some level, Kurt hadn't actually believed it. "I'm glad you can trust me," Blaine said, hands finding their way to Kurt's sides and squeezing gently.

"I'm glad I can, too," the younger boy replied shakily, fingers curling around the lapels of Blaine's jacket. He wasn't sure who started leaning in first, but it was just a matter of seconds before their lips met and the world was blurring in the background. It was almost alarming, the way adrenaline coursed through Kurt's body, the way it felt like every hair was standing on end. This feeling only intensified when he heard Blaine let out a little sigh against his lips; he'd never imagined he could make _anyone_ - let alone someone as strong and controlled as Blaine - make a sound like that.

"Aw, look at the happy couple," a voice teased, causing them to pull apart quickly. Kurt braced himself for the insults, the taunts, or even some physical violence; all of the things he would have received at McKinley, had anyone ever caught him so openly kissing another boy. But instead, he just saw Wes and David, both of them grinning in a way that two friends would when they were happy for two other friends.

"You guys are real adorable and everything," David added, looking over his shoulder, "But Keith's right down the hall, and if he catches you guys sucking face, he'll probably transfer one of you to another dorm." He had a point. They'd been careless.

Reluctantly, Blaine unwrapped his arms from around Kurt and sighed. "Okay, well," he ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up in a charmingly boyish way, "Meet me in the commons in a few minutes and we'll go over your math, okay?"

"A few minutes," Wes put a hand to his chest in feigned horror, "But how will you ever survive being away from your boyfriend for so long?" Blaine reached out and slugged him playfully on the shoulder while Kurt turned an impressive shade of red. _Boyfriend. _The word echoed around in his head. Was he Blaine's boyfriend? Is that what all of this meant?

"I'm sure we'll manage a brief separation," Blaine chuckled. Kurt couldn't help but notice that he didn't correct Wes on the label, either. He took Kurt's hand again, giving it a little squeeze, and said, "Go get your books and meet me there, okay? I'll get us some coffee."

"Okay," Kurt said numbly, but he didn't move.

Blaine noticed this and his eyebrows knitted together as he took a step forward, asking lowly, "Is everything okay? You know they're just teasing, right?"

"I know," Kurt said quickly; his face felt like it was on fire. "It's just…are we… I mean, am I…your boyfriend?"

The dark haired boy just stared at him for a long moment, then cracked a grin and leaned his forehead against his, whispering, "What do you think, dummy?"


End file.
